The next minute the trampled arena was in silence, and the Doctor, with his hands clasped behind him, was marching back alone towards his study, going so slowly that every one who had formed a portion of the little gathering had disappeared by the time he was half-way to the open French window.
There was something peculiar about Dr Bewley’s countenance as he slowly marched back. For one minute it was placid, the next stern, and directly after a slight quivering of the facial nerves developed into a mirthful look, which was emphasised by a low, pleasant, chuckling laugh. For the fact was that the tall, stern, portly Doctor’s thoughts had gone far back to his old schooldays and a victory he had once achieved over the brutal bully of the school at which he had been placed. And whether he was alluding to the tyrant of his days or to the one who had lorded it for long enough in the establishment of which he was the head must remain a mystery; but certain it was that the Doctor muttered presently to himself, “An overbearing young ruffian! A thoroughly good thrashing; and serve him right!”
The next moment the utterer of these words, which had fallen upon his own ears only, was looking guiltily round as if in dread lest he might have been heard. But there was no one visible but Sam Grigg, who was brushing hard at boots by the entrance to his own particular outdoor den; and he was too far away to hear; while, when the Doctor entered his study, he was met at the door by Wrench, who announced that a lady was waiting in the drawing-room, and he handed a card.
“Ha, yes, Wrench,” said the Doctor. “About a new pupil. I will see her directly.—Oh, Singh—Burney, you here? I will speak to you both another time. One moment—this is private, boys. You both know—at least, you do now, Burney, and you from henceforth must remember the same, Singh—I allow no brutal fighting in my establishment; but I am not very angry with you, my lads, for on the whole there was a display of manliness in your conduct that I cannot find it in my heart to condemn. There, you, Singh, can go and see your friend Severn.—And you, Burney, h’m—humph—well, yes, go and see Slegge. You must not forsake your companion now he is down.”
Chapter Twelve.
“With Faces like this.”
Singh’s encounter with Slegge had been very short, and when the Doctor sent him in the tokens of the affray were very slight; but a few hours afterwards certain discolorations were so manifest that the Doctor frowned and told him he had better join his companion in the dormitory for a few days and consider himself in Mrs Hamton’s charge. Singh hailed the order with delight, and went straight to his bedroom, where the plump, pleasant, elderly housekeeper had just entered before him, carrying a small basin half-full of some particular liniment-like preparation of her own, a sponge, and a soft towel.
When Singh appeared at the door Glyn sat up so suddenly that he nearly knocked over the basin that Mrs Hamton had given him to hold, after spreading the soft towel in his lap, when she began sponging his face with the preparation.